


Unbroken

by Dystopian_Dramaqueen, thismidnight, vellaword



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV), The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
Genre: Because he's a stone cold badass and he'd rather die than endanger his family, Broken Bones, Comfort, Defiance, F/M, Grief, He doesn't tell them shit, He's a big softie under the tough exterior., Ignoring an Injury, Nick gets beat up by the Eyes, Nick is that baby's daddy., No amount of abuse can change that fact., No.25, Or show him basic human kindness, Stoic Whumpees, Struggling, The only way to break Nick Blaine is to endanger his family, This happened. They just didn't film it., Whumptober 2020, alt.3, alt.5, concussion, no.11, no.18, no.19, no.26, no.30, survivor's guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26820889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dystopian_Dramaqueen/pseuds/Dystopian_Dramaqueen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thismidnight/pseuds/thismidnight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vellaword/pseuds/vellaword
Summary: Missing Scenes: Season 2, Episode 10.Nick is arrested by the Eyes outside Commander McKenzie's home.This fic shows Nick's interrogation and the painful days that follow.Physical torture is nothing compared to the agony of not knowing if June or his child are OK.Being powerless to help his family is the real torture for our hero.But don't worry, Nick, his love, and his family remain unbroken by Gilead's cruelty <3
Relationships: Nick Blaine/June Osborne | Offred
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Interrogation

Nick grunts as they release his hair. His nose is dripping. He licks his lip. _Warm. Metallic._ He spits on the floor to confirm his suspicion. _Blood._

_There’s a pattern to it. Three questions, then they strike._

Impatience builds in the interrogator’s voice as he circles the chair Nick is tied to. 

“I’ll ask you again. What were you doing at Commander McKenzie’s house? No one’s up there this time of year.”

_That’s three._

Nick blows out a breath, steadying himself. Sure enough, the man slaps Nick hard across the face. 

Gingerly testing his jaw, Nick opens his mouth, stretching it side to side. _Nothing broken. They’re going easy. That means they don’t have shit. Few more hours at most._

The first man grabs a fistful of Nick’s dark curly hair, jerking his head back hard. Nick’s adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly, keeping his eyes fixed on the interrogator in silent defiance. 

“What were you looking for?” 

_One._

“Who sent you there?”

_Two._

“Do you know McKenzie? Do you work for him?”

_Three._

Another solid punch to his stomach. Nick breathes out hard through his nose, refusing to make a sound. He grits his teeth, keeping his face even. _Fuck you. You don’t have shit._

_Nick always knew this moment would come.  
_ _  
__He was in love with a Handmaid._

_Handmaids are for reproduction._

_Giving them pleasure is an unspeakable crime._

_The Eyes are sadists and sociopaths._

_Specifically recruited for their intelligence and cruelty._

_Trained in barbaric torture techniques._

_Nick knows the stories are true._

_Everybody breaks._

_After the bombing, Nick knew his time was up._

_Pryce had been his shield, his trump card._

_But that was over now._

_There was no one left to protect him._

_The Eyes are ruthless._

_They’ll put the pieces together._

_Figure out who’d helped June escape._

_Twist a confession out of HER if they had to._

_Nick could never let that happen._

_After failing her so many times, he’d get this right._

_He’d shield her from the Eyes._

_There was no way around it. He’d be tortured._

_The time had come to pay for his crimes._

_This had always been the price for the fleeting peace he’d found in June’s arms._

_He’d have to keep his senses until he determined how much they knew._

_If they knew his child’s paternity, if Fred or Serena had betrayed him, there was no sense pretending otherwise._

_He’d say he took June by force, that she fought back but he overpowered her._

_Nick laid awake at night, staring at the wooden rafters above his bed, practicing his lies. Repeating his script until it felt real._

_Burying his feelings so deep that no one would ever find them._

_Handmaids are valuable assets._

_If the transgression was against her will, they’d let her live._

_He’d be convicted of rape._

_They’d drug him into a stupor so he couldn’t fight back._

_Using chemicals that weaken muscles but leave nerves intact._

_He’d be stoned to death in a circle of red._

_Torn to shreds in front of June._

  
  


A punch in the ribs catches Nick by surprise, pulling him back to the present. 

Nick grunts loudly, chastising himself for getting distracted. It hurts so much more since he didn’t anticipate it. Before he can gather himself, another punch to his jaw, then another, then another harder yet. Nick struggles to avoid the blows, overwhelmed by the change of pace.

The lead interrogator shoves Nick’s chair to the floor. His head and shoulder hit the concrete floor with a loud crack.

A high pitched noise whines in Nick’s ears as searing pain rips through his mind. Nick blinks, trying to focus his swimming vision. Two of everything, circling and blurring together. He knows he’s gonna vomit. He clenches his eyes shut to stop the room from spinning.

Nick hears keys in the door of the holding cell. The metal door opens quickly and a third officer walks in. “Get him up.”

The interrogators pause for a beat, not understanding. “Sir?”

“They found the baby.”

_No_ . Nick opens his eyes in a panic. _No, no, no._ Icy fear pumps through his veins. _Just the baby? What about June? Is she hurt?_

Nick pulls hard against the restraints like an animal in a trap. Writhing his wrists in the duct tape. The wet tape starts to loosen from sweat or blood. He focuses all of his energy, twisting harder, tormented by the images in his mind. _His baby captured by the Eyes. Taken back to Fred and Serena. June’s lifeless body on the floor of McKenzie’s house, or the snowy woods outside, or worse, in a room like this. Now that she’s not pregnant, they can interrogate her. Twist it out of her. I can’t protect her from that._

“We were just getting started, Sir…”

“He’s free to go.” The Senior officer’s tone carries a threat. The order is final. 

“Yes, Sir.” 

Nick’s chair is hauled up and a knife slits his bonds. His shoulders ache with relief as blood flows back into his hands. 

Nick’s mind races. The words come out before he can stop them. He has to see if they know anything else. “They found the baby?”

Before the third officer can answer, the small man turns, seething with anger. “Oh. _Now_ you got something to say?”

Nick winces as the man punches him in the ribs. Ten times harder than during the interrogation. Blinding pain splits his side, a fiery blade between his ribs, the burn worsened with every breath. Nick grimaces despite himself, wincing as he tries to catch his breath. _Christ, that broke a rib._

A sadistic fire flares in the lead interrogator’s eyes. His head tilts to the side, delighted to finally see pain on his victim’s face. The man blows out a slow breath, leashing his rage, face going cold again.

“Get out.”

Nick stands, shuffling out of the interrogation room as quickly as his injuries will allow. 

His boots echo on the concrete. Four words echo on endless repeat in his mind, leading his mind into a fresh circle of hell. 

_“They found the baby.”_


	2. Isolation

Three days later, the bruises and cuts are starting to heal, but Nick’s emotions are more raw and damaged than they’ve ever been.

He still hasn’t seen his daughter, and he still doesn’t know anything about June.

For Nick, that’s the true torture. Worse than any of the physical pain he’d been put through. He can live with broken ribs and a black eye. Being left alone to imagine the worst about June? It’s unbearable. He’d actually prefer hours of physical torture if it meant she was safe. If he just  _ knew _ she was safe.

So he distracts himself, throwing himself into mindless tasks around the house– washing the car, rotating its tires, organizing the garage. Anything to keep his mind and hands occupied and out of his apartment. Which is how he finds himself in the kitchen fixing a loose drawer pull while Rita mops and Serena waits for a tea kettle to boil. The air in the room is so thick with unspoken tension that Nick feels like he can hardly catch his breath. He clears his throat, reaching for a screwdriver to tighten a bolt, focusing all of his energy on his task in a desperate attempt to keep himself centered.

And then the baby starts to cry. 

Before Nick can stop himself, his head instinctively turns in the direction of the nursery, along with Rita and Serena’s, before he quickly averts his gaze back to the floor as he remembers where he is, who he is, and why he can’t go check on his own child. Every one of her cries stabs a sharp dagger through his heart, worsening the ache in his chest to the point that it’s nearly unbearable as he waits for someone else to take care of her.

_ Why the fuck is no one helping her? _

His eyes dart over to Serena just as she barks out an order.

“Rita.” 

Nick’s vision starts to black at the edges. His grip tightens on the screwdriver, his knuckles going white as his fingers flex around the tool in his fist, every cell in his body vibrating as an insurmountable wave of rage overtakes the pain, burning red hot in his head and fingers. 

_ This woman stole my child and separated her from her mother and can’t even be bothered to take care of her.  _

He feels Rita’s eyes on his back as she stops her task, but he can’t look at her, afraid of what might happen if he does with his fuse this short. His hands tremble as he breathes in deeply through his nose, forcing himself to reign in his temper.

“I’ll get her, Mrs. Waterford.” He hears Rita’s voice as she obeys her order, but she sounds far away, nearly inaudible behind the roar of blood rushing in his ears. Rita leaves her mop and heads out of the kitchen to check on the baby, leaving Nick alone with Serena.

Nick clears his throat, feeling the wave of anger recede as something new rushes in.  _ An opportunity.  _ He taps his thumb against the metal rod of the screwdriver as his eyes drift up to Serena, trying her best to ignore him as she stirs sugar into her tea. 

He draws in a breath, his mouth falling open before it closes again. He can hear June yelling at him in his head not to do what he wants to do. 

_ Don’t do it, Nick. You can’t worry about me anymore. You have to focus on our daughter. She needs you. You have to protect her now, and you can’t do that if we’re both _ –

His eyes squeeze shut as he forces her voice out of his mind, but it’s too late. That unspoken thought, the one that’s tortured him for days, worsens the ache in his chest, making it hard to breathe, and he feels like he’s drowning.

Under normal circumstances, he’d never even consider what he wants to do. But this is far from normal, and the flood of rapidly shifting emotions having completely eroded his self-control. He needs something, anything to cling to.  _ Fuck it, it’s worth a shot.  _ Desperate for a lifeline, the words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them. 

“Where’s the... Handmaid?”

Serena’s spoon stills against the side of her teacup and Nick’s starting to regret he opened his mouth, knowing he should have listened to June, when she turns to him, dropping the spoon on the counter, her eyes narrowing.

“The Handmaid has fulfilled her duty in this house and is no longer to be spoken about.” 

Serena’s voice is a cold, deadly warning. Nick remains silent, refusing to agree or acknowledge her words as his grip tightens on the screwdriver again. His mind flashes red as he imagines how easy it would be for this screwdriver to end up in the side of her neck. 

_ It’d be dirty but quick. And then I’ll get Rita and the baby and we’ll be gone. I’ll get my gun and if we get caught _ –

“Is that clear?”

Serena’s voice snaps him back to reality and his fiery dark eyes flick up to meet her unforgiving stare.

“Yes, ma’am.” 

_ Fuck you. _

Serena gathers her tea and leaves the room and once she’s out of his sight, all the fire and anger drains out of him, and he’s left empty and hollow, a shell of himself.

_ I still don’t know anything. If June’s alive or dead. I can’t help my own daughter. I have nothing. No family, no comfort. Nothing.  _

Nick drops the screwdriver in the sink, his task forgotten, and grips the counter with both hands, his head hung low between his shoulders. He squeezes his eyes shut and breathes deeply through his nose, trying to keep himself together as his whole world falls apart around him. 

He’s so lost in his own mind that he doesn’t hear Rita come back in from the nursery. He barely notices her presence even as she places an empty bottle in the sink under him, to be dealt with later. 

He doesn’t react at all until Rita’s hand lands softly on his forearm, breaking him out of his trance, the simple gesture of kindness and reassurance nearly enough to crack his stoic facade. Nick releases a deep shuddering breath as he finally moves, his eyes shift up to meet hers as she lifts his hand off the counter, wordlessly leading him to the dining table and sitting him down. She sits down next to him, studying him, as he folds his hands together, focusing on the pattern of the wood grain under his fingers, trying to keep himself composed.

“She’s fine.”

Nick looks up, startled by her sudden statement. Unsure of how to respond, or what to say, he simply nods. 

“Thank you,” he begins, clearing his throat. “Thank you for taking care of her.” It’s all he can manage, but he hopes it’s enough.

Rita’s eyes soften in appreciation as she nods. “She’s a good baby. Quiet, like her dad.” The smallest hint of a smile ghosts across Nick’s lips at her quiet acknowledgment before she continues.

“But I wasn’t talking about her.” 

Nick’s eyebrows cross in confusion as he draws in a breath. And then before he can stop it, hope flickers alive, warm and soothing, in his chest. He tries to squash it before it can take hold, refusing to let it grow, terrified of what will happen when it’s stamped out again and the darkness returns, like it always does in this place. 

“What?” He breathes out, willing himself to focus on Rita as his heartbeat pounds in his ears.

She nods reassuringly. “She’s at the Red Center. They have her there pumping for the baby. I saw her yesterday.”

A single laugh escapes his lips before he feels the room starts to spin and he puts his head in his hands, feeling like he might float away, drunk on the relief.

_ June’s alive. _

Nick takes a second to gather himself before looking up at Rita again through glassy eyes.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice caught around the lump in his throat. “I didn’t… I thought…” he feels himself start to crack open, and he swipes quickly at his eye with the pad of his index finger as the emotions flood back in. He shakes his head, taking another deep breath as his eyes flutter up to the ceiling. He can’t finish his sentence, the thought still too devastating to speak aloud.

“No one told me anything,” he forces out instead before his eyes close and the dam breaks. 

Hot tears spill down his cheeks as he drops his head down into his hands again, sobbing brokenly into his palms; days, weeks, months of pent up emotions pouring out of him all at once. He cries for June, so relieved she’s alive but still aching with the knowledge she’s all alone. He cries for their daughter, who will never know how much he loves her or how desperately he wants to hold her in his arms. And he cries for himself and how utterly powerless he feels, isolated from his family and unable to help or love them.

When he’s finally spent, he lifts his head from his hands, his red-rimmed eyes surprised to find Rita still sitting next to him, waiting patiently. She hands him a tissue and the small gesture almost breaks him again, but he centers himself with a deep breath.

“Thanks,” his voice is still thick with pain as he balls the tissue in his fist. 

Rita nods. “Feel better?”

He doesn’t. Not really. But his head feels clearer than it has in months, so he nods. Rita sighs, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder as she stands.

“Take a few more minutes. Splash your face before you leave.”

He nods again, taking another deep breath as Rita turns to leave him to gather himself privately. She stops short before she leaves the kitchen, turning back to face Nick.

“Nick?”

He turns in his chair to look at her.

“You know better than to ask her anything like that. Just ask me next time.” 


	3. Consolation

When Nick finally saw June again, it was at the Red Center, and it felt like they had been separated for a lifetime. He steeled himself, yet the moment Lydia brought her in the room and their eyes met across the pews, his resolve crumbled. It took every ounce of restraint not to run to her and make sure she was okay.

Concern flashed across June's face, her brows furrowing as she took in the sight of Nick's injuries, all the bruises and scabbed cuts on his face. She glanced between him and Fred, who wasn't the least bit phased by the oceans of pain between them as he picked up their daughter and held her for June to see. Nick shifted on his feet and clenched his fists behind his back. After everything they went through - all the physical and emotional torture - they had to submit to more Waterford games.

"No," June shook her head, backing up slowly as Lydia tried to coax her closer. "No, no, no. Don't make me do this."

"Offred, you're not as productive as we'd like," Lydia explained in a quiet, matronly voice, "seeing her might prime the pump, so to speak."

June looked at Nick with tearful eyes, and his heart broke. He felt like he was trapped in a box, screaming, pounding on the walls, yet no one could hear him. He stepped forward, keeping his eyes locked on hers, trying to comfort her in silence. The only way he could.

_You can do this, June._

June nodded in acknowledgement, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Nichole," Fred said to Nick and June's daughter as he presented her to her mother, "this is Offred."

Nick visibly flinched at the name. Nichole. It was another reminder that he was just a pawn of the elite, his own sacred fatherhood nothing more than salt to rub in each other's wounds. But June looked like she'd been punched in the chest. "Nichole. You named her Nichole," she breathed, like she couldn’t quite believe it. They never even got the chance to talk about a name for her, and now she already had one.

"A beautiful name for a beautiful child," Lydia announced cheerily, cutting through the tension in the room. "She looks just like her father."

June looked directly at Nick, and he saw a glimmer of that defiance he knew all too well. "She does," she said to him and only him, making his heart skip a beat. A hint of a proud smile came across his bruised, split lips, and June smiled back, ever so slightly.

Their daughter let out a cry, and the physical pull of the sound was so strong that June's heavy breasts began leaking through the red dress. She instinctively cupped her chest to cover herself, feeling small and helpless at the inability to provide for her baby— but Aunt Lydia beamed at the reaction. "Oh! This is God's way, dear."

Fred stared at the wetness on June's chest with a vague sense of disgust. But Nick was in awe of this simple moment of motherhood. That was still June's daughter - and his - no matter what name the Waterfords gave her. They couldn't take away that bond.

"Yes, well, that did the trick." Fred averted his eyes and moved to put their child back in the carrier. But June stepped forward boldly. "Wait."

The room grew unnervingly still. Everyone looked at her.

"Just let me nurse her. _Please_ ," she begged.

"That would be very helpful." Lydia added enthusiastically. Nick found himself grateful for the Aunt's presence for once. But Fred shook his head. "Just send what we need to the house."

_No._ Nick looked at June. June looked at Lydia, her face pleading.

"Commander Waterford," Lydia stepped forward, her choice of words cautious as not to challenge his authority, "if you keep the infant separate from the source, we're going to have to repeat this whole process."

"I appreciate your insight."

"I'm aware of your... concerns. But might it be more efficient if Offred were to pump for the baby at home? You'd like to be of service, wouldn't you Offred?"

_Yes. Please say yes._ Their daughter needed her back in the house. Nick needed her back.

June nodded, and when she stepped closer to Fred, she slipped on her mask and assumed the role of the ever obedient Handmaid.

"May I be worthy."

* * *

It took a lot of convincing for the Waterfords to call June back from the Red Center. Nick knew Serena was a lost cause, and they only stood a chance if Fred undermined her authority over the house. So he schmoozed the Commander over whiskey and laughed at chauvinist stories of his youth that made Nick want to vomit, and repeated Lydia's words until Fred felt enough shame to budge on the subject. It certainly wasn't empathy that changed his mind.

Despite the constant pain of his injuries dulling his senses, Nick formed a plan. It was a small plan, but it would afford him a few extra minutes with June, and that was _everything_. The morning she was meant to return, Fred would get the call that his weekly dry cleaning delivery would be late. He would take this as a slight and order Nick to make a detour to the cleaners on his way to the Red Center to pick up the Handmaid.

But Fred didn't know that his clean, pressed suits were already hidden away in the back of the Mercedes, because Nick had collaborated with the Martha Network to orchestrate this fictional errand. And it worked. He struggled to keep his face neutral as he helped June into the car and left the Red Center, taking the familiar route home twenty minutes earlier than he was expected.

June kept looking at him through the rearview mirror. Nick glanced at her, then at the patrols in the streets. Just a few more minutes and they could finally be alone.

"Nick."

His resolve began to crumble at the sound of his name on her tongue. She was trying to reach him, trying to pull him from the depths of his stony facade. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, making his injured shoulder throb.

"Talk to me."

He chewed his bottom lip and kept his eyes on the road as he hit the gas a little harder. A few minutes later, he took a turn into an alley, put the car in park, and hopped out of the driver's side. The break in routine spooked June, and she shifted in her seat to look at him, urgency rising in her voice, "Nick, where are you going?"

Nick looked up and down the alley to make sure the coast was clear, took a deep breath, then slipped into the backseat and closed the door behind him. June stared, bewildered.

"We have fifteen minutes," he pulled off his leather gloves and glanced at his wristwatch, "Fred thinks I'm picking up his dry cleaning."

June's shoulders slumped under the physical relief. Their masks fell. For only fifteen minutes, they could both be themselves. They reached for one another, needing to be as close as possible. Nick gathered her in his arms, June and pressed gentle kisses all over his battered face.

"I was so scared. I didn't know what happened to you." June's voice broke, tears welling in her eyes. She tried to embrace him but he grimaced when she pressed against his ribs, so she cupped his face gingerly instead, tracing his cuts with her fingertips. He closed his eyes under her soothing touch. "What did they do to you?"

"I'm okay," he choked out, gently taking her hands from his face and clasping them in his own. "I'm sorry."

June looked incredulous. "For what?"

"For leaving you."

"You didn't," June shook her head, her voice tight with grief, "they took you away from me."

It wasn't fair. None of it was fair. But Nick's heart was still heavy with incorrigible guilt. June shouldn't have had to give birth to their daughter alone, with no one to help, no one to look out for her. "I should have been there."

June smiled sadly, tears glistening in her eyes, reflecting on all the firsts that have been stolen from them. "You should have," she nodded, "but you're here now."

Nick shook his head, swallowing the lump in his throat. Trying to stamp down the fears reminding him that he didn't know how long this would last, didn't know when they would take her away from him again, or what the future held for them. Nothing was certain, and their love rested on unstable foundations that could fall at any minute. But when he looked in June's eyes and saw the understanding of all his unvoiced anxieties, everything felt like it was going to be okay.

June kissed him, long and lingering and full of promise for more. "We'll figure this out, Nick," she sighed against his lips. She wrapped herself around him, careful of his injured body and broken soul, and against all odds, Nick believed her.

"Now tell me about our baby girl."

And for the last few minutes they had together, Nick told her what little he knew about their daughter, with all the fatherly pride that could never be beaten out of him.


End file.
